


Am I weird to dance alone late at night?

by SecondStarOnTheLeft



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondStarOnTheLeft/pseuds/SecondStarOnTheLeft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when the nights are cold and sharp and the sky clear enough to see every single star, Sansa climbs out onto the roof with a mug of hot chocolate and her torch, and she chats across the silent street with her best friend's brother in Morse code and wishes that she were brave enough to flirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Am I weird to dance alone late at night?

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know where this came from? Or particularly what it is?
> 
> Title taken from Q.U.E.E.N. by Janelle Monáe.

Sometimes, when the nights are cold and sharp and the sky clear enough to see every single star, Sansa climbs out onto the roof with a mug of hot chocolate and her torch, and she chats across the silent street with her best friend's brother in Morse code and wishes that she were brave enough to flirt.

Willas is four years older than her, and is only at home while he's looking for somewhere to live with a lot less stairs than his old place.

Sansa's only at home because she's looking for somewhere to live that Joff doesn't know about, but when she's sitting on the roof and Willas is blipping across silly made up stories about how the Big Dipper is just a front for Orion's drugs trafficking operation ( _stardust is the original white powder, sweetheart_ he beams across, and she fumbles her torch at that, at  _sweetheart,_ even though he has petnames on everyone) she doesn't want to think about that.

They also share hot chocolate recipes - he was something of a purist until she introduced him to the miracle of vanilla sugar, and she never thought she'd find a way of drinking brandy without wanting to throw up - and talk about their siblings and his mad surviving grandparents and her mad surviving grandfather and their fussing parents.

They come out onto the roof (well, roofs) every night except when it's raining. It snows in November, but they both gamely bundle up in coats and scarves and, in Sansa's case, ski boots (they're the warmest thing she owns, and she doesn't even care that his laughter echoes right across the street).

She's twenty-three, but she feels about fifteen, giddy and flushed and nervous and elated at the thought of spending time with her crush. Does it even count as spending time together, she sometimes wonders? They never actually talk face to face - even if they bump into each other at the shop, they chat for half a minute and move on, the same after mass on Sundays.

But they never miss a night on the roof, unless it's raining. They even send birthday cards and small, silly presents in the post (their birthdays are two months apart, two months to the day). She worries that he only comes up because it's a curiosity, a novelty of sorts, but surely the novelty would have worn off after nearly six months?

It's hard to talk about therapy, hers or his, via Morse code, but they manage, somehow, and suddenly Sansa doesn't feel nervous about him or worried that he'll grow bored. Loras constantly complains that Willas won't talk about his treatment (and she knows that Robb and Arya are completely going spare because she won't either), but he talks to  _her_. That's got to mean something, doesn't it?

One morning, she gets an envelope in the post with another, smaller envelope in her favourite shade of lemon-yellow inside it. There's something heavy in the smaller envelope, but there's also a note in Willas' handwriting - part of her hates that she knows his handwriting better than his voice - that tells her not to open it until later, which of course means until she's up on the roof.

It's a key, and he tells her that there's this two-story house in the Georgian Quarter that's been converted into two flats, and that this is the key to the upstairs flat - his uncle owns the building, and she's free to look around whenever she feels like it.

She will go look around, of course, but the thought of living upstairs from him is almost enough to clinch it without even seeing the place. If a Hightower owns it, it'll be lovely, so she's not worried on that front, but still.

She's going to miss the roof, and she feels kind of silly for that.

 

* * *

 

They've been living on Cavendish Row for three days - they moved in the same day, Willas drove them over and Garlan and Robb helped them move in their stuff - when the knock comes on his door.

He already has the milk simmering on the hob and his biggest mugs on the worktop.

 


End file.
